


Behind Closed Doors

by THIRTEENpointONE



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/THIRTEENpointONE/pseuds/THIRTEENpointONE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When DC's top lobbying firm hires Belle French to pass an important education bill, she quickly discovers that the only person with the power to crush her success is also the same person that she can't stop thinking about – President Gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I actually wrote this a couple months ago, and finally just got around to putting the finishing details on it. It's inspired by my love for The West Wing, The American President, and basically everything Aaron Sorkin. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I also have to thank my wonderful beta, Luthien, for looking this over. If you're looking for another great AU, check out her Plain Jane.

_**January 4th** _

"And that was Maine's Senator Regina Mills, announcing her intention to run for the Democratic nomination for President. The Senator's entrance into the race makes her the third woman now running for the top spot on the Democratic ticket—a party first. In her speech last night, Mills said that even though she is a first-term senator, she believes that the 'egregious abuse of power' by the Gold administration has made it necessary for her to enter the race."

_Yeah, bet_ that _was the reason…_

"Belle? Venti Nonfat Tazo Tea Latte?"

Belle French tore her eyes away from the CNN news report playing on her iPhone at the sound of the barista calling out her order.

"Venti Tea Latte? Belle?"

"Yes! That's me. Thank you," she replied, pushing her way through the crowded space so she could reach the counter. She smiled, pointedly ignoring the arched eyebrow on the woman's face, and accepted the scalding hot drink from her hand.

She turned around, only to find that the wall of people had swallowed up her temporary path. "Excuse me? Pardon me." No one budged. _Welcome to DC_ , she thought with a sigh, finally using her briefcase as a battering ram to force her way through the packed Starbucks' exit.

A cold blast of air momentarily shocked her senses as she stepped outside, making her eyes tear up from the freezing gust of wind.

_1500 K Street._ Belle reached down into her pocket to retrieve the small piece of scrap paper with her new firm's address written on it. Another gust blew by, nearly snatching it from her gloved fingers and she instinctively reached for it with her other hand, only to nearly spill her tea all over herself.

She gasped, barely averting the calamity in time, and then replaced the piece of paper promptly back into her pocket. _It's fine_ , she thought. _I don't need to see it again._ She had already memorized her new firm's address a hundred times over; one more glance wasn't going to change anything.

_But where is 1500?_ She picked up her pace, as she scanned the buildings above for their numbers. _1359….1378…_

Another strong gust of wind caught her off guard as she was looking upwards, and blew her sideways, directly into another commuter, who was too busy talking on his cell phone about the "damned weather" to even bother acknowledging her hurried apology.

Thankfully, she once again saved her latte from spilling all over her in the near miss. Changing clothes was not an option—she was due in the office in twenty minutes. It would take her nearly that much time to find a cab, let alone not be enough time to drive back to her apartment in Georgetown to change into a new outfit. Plus, she couldn't afford to spare the clothes either. She only had enough outfits to last her though the week; everything else she owned was still in her old home in Maine, waiting to be packed and shipped down.

_The Hilton! Oh, thank God!_

Belle skipped up to the next light and pressed the crosswalk button, spotting the tall, cream hotel a block up. The HR person at her new firm had told her that they were located in the building across from the Capital Hilton. Her taxi cab driver wasn't nearly as helpful—telling her that the Starbucks he had dropped her off at was "right next to" her new building.

Despite her mild irritation with the man's faulty directions, Belle's inner child was still bouncing in excitement over the fact that she was walking down the very street that she had dreamed of working on for so long. The fact that it was now a reality was certainly going to take some time to sink in; that was if she didn't get fired from being late on her first day. That terrifying thought spurred her to jog ahead, nearly breaking her heel off in an ill-placed sidewalk crack in her haste.

Her new office building was grand—seemingly plucked directly out from her dreams. Neoclassical design elements, highlighted by grandiose cream pillars and ornamental sculptural details, gave the structure a similar look to the other iconic buildings of the area. A dozen, large American flags, lining the elevated first story's entrance flew nearly horizontal in the strong wind, and finished the classic Americana look.

Belle walked underneath its large terrace, which gave her brief shelter from the wind, and paused briefly, allowing herself a small smile at the sight of the firm's name—Spencer & Associates—inscribed on the gold-rimmed glass door, before she pulled on the heavy handle and walked inside.

The immense lobby was jam-packed with suited associates darting to the elevators just beyond the marbled security desk. With only minutes to spare until 9:00 am, and not knowing which floor to go to, Belle quickly walked over to the two guards stationed there.

"Hi. My name's Belle French, and today's my first day—"

"What'd you say your name was?" the security guard asked gruffly, giving her a long, once-over before looking down at a long, printed sheet in front of him. "French?"

"Yes, French. Belle French," she repeated, her face hurting from smiling so brightly.

"Take this," he said, handing her over a security badge and card. "Elevators are to the right. 9th floor."

Belle smiled, accepting the identification from the man, and made her way to the elevators, along with the other hoards of people.

After enduring a nearly endless elevator ride, she finally arrived on the ninth floor, and wasted no time, bounding out, and nearly running to the elegant receptionist desk in the lobby.

"Hi, my name's Belle French, and I'm—"

"Late."

"What?" Belle spun around, finding herself standing face-to-face with a smartly dressed, middle-aged, brown haired man, with a wide smile plastered across his face. "I was told that I was supposed to be here at nine?"

"By whom? Jackie, I suppose." The man huffed dramatically, and then walked by her, beckoning her forward with a curt hand gesture. "Come along now, Bambi, hurry up. The House convenes at ten, which means that work started at seven, which means that you're now playing catch-up, and I don't have all day to help you learn the ropes."

"My name's not Bambi. It's Belle."

"Doe-eyed, optimistic, and ready to single-handedly take on the world in your first time in away from home?" He smirked, tilting his head. "Welcome to K-Street, Bambi. Do remind me to take a picture of you before you leave today; I always like to remember what bright-eyed optimism looks like."

Belle clicked her jaw in irritation. "My name is Belle, and this is certainly not my first time away from home. And what is your name, by the way?"

"Ooo…Bambi's got bite. Good. You may last until the end of the day just yet. And it's Jefferson—Jefferson Hattier. Although, you may call me Jefferson, since everyone else does."

"Right," she said, nodding, trying to make mental notes of all of the corridors he was taking her quickly down. "You can call me—"

"Spencer's up in meetings on the Hill today," he continued, talking right over her. "He asked me to show you around, and he'll be in later today to personally welcome you to the firm. Where was it that you were from?"

"Storybrooke, Maine. A little town north of Augusta, on the coast."

He stopped, and turned towards her, lifting his eyebrows. "Wow, I didn't think that he was actually serious about that," he deadpanned, turning quickly on his heel to walk on. "Huh. Well, anyways, word on the street is that apparently you're the new little wunderkind that they've brought in to tackle the…what was it?"

"The Children First Act."

"Right."

Belle walked even faster, trying to catch up to his brisk pace. "Are you working on it with me?"

"No. God, no! With an election year coming up? Ha! I have enough headaches to deal with—wait, sorry," he said, holding his hand dramatically up. "I didn't mean it like that. I bet you will have _all_ sorts of success getting it passed."

"I know what I'm up against, Mr. Hattier."

"Jefferson."

"Jefferson," she said, correcting herself. "I'm not naive and think that this will be easy."

He twirled around, continuing to walk backwards, as he shook his head gleefully. "Oh, Bambi, I appreciate your optimism, but you are in for a hell of a rude awakening." Without warning, Jefferson snatched her cup of tea from out of her hand and tossed it in the trash, ignoring Belle's gasp of protest.

"I was drinking that!"

"Not anymore," he said, lowering his voice. "Lost their account last year—bad blood. If you're really interested, go down to records, _quietly_ , or preferably, not at all. Otherwise, there's a coffee machine down the hall, or a Caribou Coffee around the corner on K. Just be thankful that you didn't walk into Spencer with that in your hand."

"Oh. Uh…thanks?"

"Don't mention it. Okay, now here we go—this is your office."

Belle stopped, and couldn't help but let a little smile escape her at the sight of her name on a plaque outside the door, above the lauded Spencer & Associates name.

"You good?" Jefferson asked. "Need another moment to take it all in?"

"I'm fine."

"Just checking, because I thought I saw you getting a little misty-eyed—"

Belle turned and glared at him, done with his teasing. "I said I'm fine."

"All right," Jefferson said, shrugging and letting out a small sigh as he opened the door for her. "Here we are."

Belle was instantly rendered speechless at the sight. Her old apartment was the size of this room. She took a step inside, taking in all of the details. Most noticeable was the striking floor-to-ceiling window that covered the entire wall behind her desk, providing her with an unbelievable, panoramic view of the neighboring park, and buildings, as well allowing for a small glimpse of the White House and Lafayette Square off in the distance. Never in her wildest dreams could she have envisioned working in a place like this.

"Bambi? Focus."

"I didn't do anything."

He arched his brow. "Mm hmm. 'Oh, motha, what is this place? Is this the meadow you talked about? It's so magical.'"

"Are you like this to everyone?"

"Eh, just the decaffeinated ones," he said, giving her a half-hearted shrug. "Come along; let's introduce you to your slaves and future drinking companions." He breezed right by her, opening the adjacent door to her right, and then immediately slammed it shut. "All right, before I do these little introductions, please keep in mind that each of these little princes' and princesses' parents are somehow highly connected around here. Otherwise, they wouldn't be in this room, so watch what you say—no matter how much you want to kill them. If you have a problem with any of them, come to me first."

Belle gave him curt nod. "Right."

"That means no smiling, or hugs, Bambi."

"Got it."

Jefferson's looked at her for a long moment, before finally opening the door to unveil a large room with two long rows of desks. All at once, everyone in the room ceased their conversation, and spun around in their seats towards them, peeking up over their short glass partitions.

"These are your assistants," Jefferson said, making a sweeping gesture towards the room. "The first four here are yours, the rest are Lance's and Ruby's. Let me see if I remember…I think I gave you the fairytale set to make you feel more at home. So, this is Ella, Thomas, Erik, and Ariel. Right? Nod if I'm right."

All of the assistants nodded eagerly in reply.

"I swear, you can't—" He stopped, swinging back around. "Bambi, what are you doing? Stop smiling. They're not used to that—it sets a bad precedent."

She ignored him, extending her hand to each of her new assistants. "Belle French," she said. "It's a pleasure to meet you all."

Jefferson sighed. "At any rate, slaves meet your new master. Bambi—slaves."

Before she could reply, Jefferson grabbed her arm and dragged her back into her office, slamming the door behind them.

"Don't worry, they're actually all quite competent. Entitled little brats, for sure, but they should be able to do whatever you ask of them. Before here, they worked at all the top legal firms around the area."

"I bet they'll be great."

He scoffed, "You've clearly never worked with interns before."

"I have, actually," she said, smirking back. "So what do you do around here, Jefferson?"

"I am the rainmaker," he said, gesturing animatedly at himself. Her expression must have betrayed her, because he quickly continued. "No, really, that's what they call me. Unofficially, of course. I'm in charge of raising all the money for your spending around here. In fact, I haven't thrown a 'tea party' when I haven't broken at least a mil' yet. Which reminds me—are you registered?"

"What?"

Jefferson sighed. "Play along, Bambi. Democrat? Republican? Are you registered as one of them?"

"Uh…Democrat?"

"Yeah, we're going to have to get that changed before the day's out and hope that no one noticed yet."

"What? Why?"

"If you didn't notice, Bambi, you're working at the top lobbying firm in DC. If you would like to avoid awkward questions, as I assure you there will be, I'd suggest you tick the Independent box at your earliest convenience. In this town, your allegiance is to whatever party is paying you. Nod if you understand."

Belle rolled her eyes. "I understand."

"Fantastic. Let's go meet your co-workers, now, shall we?" he said, opening her office door once again, and striding out, looking over his shoulder as he continued to talk.

"Luckily enough for you, they put you in the 'Warm 'n Fuzzy' wing for the time being—basically, you've got your environmental, education, and social reform over here. Campaign finance reform, and the like, are located downstairs, on the eighth floor, and are a bunch of uptight assholes, if you'll pardon my French. Pollsters are on level four, but don't go down there unless you have an anti-depressant handy, which you can find on level five in the pharmaceutical wing. Partners and top brass are located above—which is where you can find me," he said with a wink.

"And if you're looking for a good time, go across the hall to the 'Big Three'—alcohol, firearms, and tobacco." He stopped, biting his lip as he gave her a quick once over. "On second thought, let's put off introducing you to those guys for a little bit. I can't have that on my conscience just quite yet."

Not quite knowing what to say to that, Belle remained silent, trying her hardest to appear as if she knew what he was talking about, while her brain hurried to remember all of the information.

"Your two new best friends' offices are over here, right around the corner," he said, gesturing to the two, adjoining glass-walled offices. Unlike hers, she could see directly into these large spaces. "This is Ruby Lucas' office, and she is…gone, apparently." He popped his head around the corner to the next office, where a very attractive black man sat behind his desk, absorbed in reading something on a large monitor in front of him. "Lance! Where's Ruby?"

"Meeting at Longworth," he said tiredly, without glancing up.

"Do you know when she'll be back?"

"Not sure. Try her cell."

Jefferson walked over, and then slammed his hands on his desk, jolting Lance's head up.

"What the hell, man?"

"Just waking you up, so I can properly introduce you to the new education gal. Lance, meet Bamb—"

"Belle French," Belle said, cutting him off. She extended her hand to her new colleague, with a warm smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"My apologies," he said, clasping her hand firmly. "Lance de Troyes. I'm in charge of veteran's affairs here. You must be the ringer that I heard they were trying to bring in."

"Well, I don't know about that…"

Lance tipped his head. "If you're gonna try and take on that education bill, you must either be completely mad or damn good, and you don't strike me as someone who is insane; although, I can't say the same thing about him."

"Do you know what this is?" Jefferson asked, holding up his phone, hovering his finger over the dial button. "These are your Wizard-Heat tickets being given away to someone else."

"Have you been introduced to anyone else besides him, yet?" Lance continued, unfazed by Jefferson's threat.

"No, not yet."

"And you haven't run out of the building yet? You may be braver than all of us combined!"

Belle joined in his laughter, especially after noticing Jefferson's over-the-top offended expression. "He's been very helpful."

"Beautiful, smart, _and_ a graceful liar to boot?" He whistled and shook his head. "Ms. French, I believe you've come to the right firm, and definitely the right town. Word of advice, though?"

"Yes?"

"Turn around and look at that man. See him there? Do the opposite of everything he tells you."

"And, we're leaving," Jefferson announced brightly, grabbing Belle's arm.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. de Troyes—"

"Lance."

"Lance," she said, smiling as she corrected herself.

He strode around his desk, and leaned on the corner. "Come back after he's done showing you around, and I'll introduce you to everyone he missed. Jefferson, here, doesn't mingle with us common folk, often. You did, at least, warn her about the eighth floor, didn't you?"

"He said that I'm not supposed to go down there?"

"Only if you have to," Lance agreed.

"You doubt me so, Lance," Jefferson said, pulling a folded envelope out of his jacket pocket, and tossing it over to him.

"Courtside?"

"As promised."

"Yeah, baby," Lance cheered, placing the envelope on his desk. "Let me know when you want to make our next bet. Ruby said that she wants in next time too."

Jefferson groaned, raising his hand in reply, and left the room without further comment.

Belle stayed a moment behind, giving her new colleague an appreciative smile. "It was nice meeting you, Lance."

"You too, Belle." He stepped forward, tilting his head. "Don't take him too seriously. That's just him. He really is a good guy—he'll show you the ropes."

"Thanks."

"Bambi!" her escort yelled from down the hallway.

Lance gave her a little wink. "See ya around. When Ruby gets back in, I'll send her over too."

Belle gave him one last smile before turning on her heel to go chase after Jefferson. It was certainly going to be a long day.

~~+~~

After she had dispatched of Jefferson at the completion of his grand tour, or rather, after Jefferson had dispatched of her to presumably find someone else to harass, Belle had gone to HR to fill out her new employment forms. That had kept her occupied her until lunch, after which she had spent the rest of her day getting acquainted with her office staff, and refreshing herself with the details of her bill again so she was ready for her meeting with Spencer—a meeting that was supposed to have taken place three hours ago.

Belle looked over her shoulder and down at the sparkling Christmas lights still decorating the park below her, and then back again at her desktop phone, seemingly for the hundredth time. Spencer's secretary had called her around 3:00 p.m. to inform her that their boss was running late, but that he still wished to have a word with her before she left.

Not wanting to displease her new boss on her first day, she had patiently waited by her phone for the rest day for the call summoning her to Spencer's office, while she read up more on the Children First Act. It wasn't that she was intimidated about meeting her new boss. In fact, she prided herself on taking on such matters head-on, a quality which she privately, and proudly, attributed to how she had attained so much success at such a relatively young age. However, when Albert Spencer, Washington's most powerful lobbyist, called her out of the blue the previous weekend, asking her to join his team immediately to head up one of the biggest bills being introduced in Congress, it had rendered Belle nearly speechless, especially his confidence in her success.

Since that call, she had done little else except study up on the Children First Act, not wanting to be any less than one-hundred-percent prepared for anything, and everything, Spencer wanted to ask her. The Act—the largest piece of education legislature to be put before Congress since the No Child Left Behind Act—was primed to be the Democrats' major piece of legislation that they wanted to push through this year, undoubtedly to pump up their resumes for next year's election.

_**Ring! Ring!** _

Belle nearly fell out of her chair, scrambling to pick up the desk phone. "Belle French," she said cheerfully, pushing her errant hair strands out of her face.

"Ms. French, Mr. Spencer wants you to meet him in his office now," a pleasant female voice answered.

"Certainly. I'll be right there."

The phone clicked off and Belle let out a long breath. _Okay, let's do this._

Giving herself a quick once-over in her window's reflection to make sure she looked presentable, Belle exited her office and strode down the hallway to the elevator. It was a short trip up to the next floor. Once she arrived, she wasted no time, walking directly to Spencer's corner office located on the opposite side of the floor.

While most of the firm had gone home for the day, the majority of the main partners' offices on this top level still had light shining from underneath their door sills; their work day still not over at 9:30 p.m.

Spencer's secretary motioned her inside as soon as Belle was within view of the grand reception desk. She gave the older woman a shy smile, which was reciprocated kindly. Despite her unconventional welcome by Jefferson this morning, it seemed that most of her coworkers were actually quite pleasant.

She entered the spacious room to find her new boss standing with his back to her, looking out at the panoramic DC skyline. The silver-coiffed lobbyist turned around immediately at her presence.

"My apologies for keeping you waiting so late this evening, Miss French. I had a meeting that ran late. I trust that Mr. Hattier was able to show you around earlier?"

Belle smiled, letting a little bit of nervous energy escape her. "He was. He was very helpful actually."'

"Good." Spencer gave a little nod, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk. "Please." He sat down behind his desk, folding his hands gracefully in front of him. "Let me be frank, and get right to the point, Miss French, since I don't want to keep you any longer than need be.

"You're here because I heard that you're the best. When David Morris calls and tells me to get you on our team at any price, then I have to assume that it's because you're worth it. He said that you're the best closer that he's ever seen. Are you, Miss French?"

"I believe that I am, Mr. Spencer," Belle said, making a mental note to send her old mentor a thank you gift.

"That confident?"

"I don't back down from any challenge, if that's what you mean, sir."

He narrowed his eyes for a brief moment, and then reached across his desk to pick up an ivory pen, jotting down a series of numbers.

Belle fought to keep her nerves in check as she watched him continue to write. Suddenly, she felt as if she was being interviewed, rather than being welcomed in to the firm.

"Tell me what these are," he said, pushing the piece of paper across the desk at her. Written on the paper were the numbers: _242, 193, 23, 17, 12, 9, 3._

A wave of relief rushed over Belle's nerves as she realized what the numbers were. "These first two numbers are the current party breakdowns in the House. The second set is the party breakdown for the House Committee on Education and the Workforce. The next two numbers are the party breakdowns for the Early Childhood, Elementary, and Secondary Education. I'm not entirely sure what the last number is, but I assume that it's the number times it hasn't passed through the subcommittee."

"Correct, Ms. French." He grinned, his smile not reaching his eyes. "You understand what you're facing then with this piece of legislation?"

"I do, sir."

"As we discussed earlier on the phone, this bill comes with high expectations that we deliver it through to a passing vote. Our clients are expecting this to be the final time that they will have to put this through to a vote. With President Gold vulnerable, they need this issue to be passed before the fall.

"The DNC also wants this to be their flagship issue to during the election season next year. They can't afford having this bill shut down again, and their backers are intending to spend as much money as possible to get it done. Now, I ask you: have I chosen the right person for the job?"

"You have, sir," Belle nodded. "It's an important piece of legislation. I'll get it passed."

He waved her off. "I don't pay you for your opinions, French. I'm paying you for results. Remember that."

Sobered, Belle nodded. "Yes, sir." She wasn't lying though; she did truly want this education reform to get passed. It was one of the main reasons she accepted the job. If there was anyone to champion education, it was she.

"The bill goes to the floor in two weeks, and I expect you to take the lead from there. We're also putting together a team to work underneath you right now. In the meantime, Mr. Hattier will help you catch up and get acquainted with our contacts, as well as the committee representatives."

"I'm looking forward to working with him."

"There is one last thing before you go. When we spoke on the phone, it seemed that you had some hesitancy as to explain why you've never come down to work in the beltway here before. Certainly with a record such as yours, you should've been working here years ago. You ran Senator Mills' campaign, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"That was quite an impressive accomplishment. They must have approached you afterwards about a place on her Presidential campaign team. Why aren't you working for them?"

Memories of Belle's old boss, none of them particularly pleasant, ran through her mind. "One campaign with Senator Mills was more than enough for me."

Spencer smirked. "Fair enough. However, I must ask you again. Is there any reason that this is the first time that I'm hearing about you, especially since Morris says that you're the best he's seen in a while—a true prodigy?"

"That's very kind of him, sir, but no, there is nothing that you should be concerned about. I stayed close to home simply because my father lives in Maine, and I needed to be close by." That was the short story. The long one involved a complicated tale about how her father that had been, and still was, adamantly against her moving down to DC to work with those "monsters." Guilt over leaving him all alone, especially since her mother passed, had kept Belle working on a state level for as long as she had. It had been finally her decision, after Spencer's offer, to go travel and fulfill her dreams. None of which Spencer needed to know himself.

"Good, because I don't like surprises. Especially of the personal nature."

"Of course, sir. You won't have a problem with me."

Spencer stood, walked around his desk, and extended his hand. "Welcome aboard, Ms. French. Let's hope that your results back up your reputation."

Belle smiled tightly, trying to push down the feeling of unease, and took his hand. "I won't let you down, sir."

"Good." He turned back around in dismissal, and Belle took the cue to leave the room.

She rose, taking last one look at the man, hesitating for a moment just in case she misinterpreted him. His back remained turned, so she quietly exited the office, closing the door carefully behind her.

"So how'd it go in there, Bambi? You headed out?"

Belle jumped, and spun around. "Jefferson?"

Her new coworker wiggled his eyebrows at her gleefully, obviously pleased with her reaction. He was joined quickly by two others, Lance and a woman Belle hadn't seen before, from around the corner.

"What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, of course."

Belle swallowed, trying to calm her racing heart. "You were waiting for me?"

"Of course!" Jefferson said. "Well…don't keep us in suspense."

Belle frowned, going over the conversation in her head again. "I think it went well. Although, I think he may have just threatened me at the end. I don't know. We're working together now, just so you know."

"We're _what_?"

"Don't worry, Spencer does that to everyone," the brunette said, cutting off Jefferson and walking forward to extend her hand. "I'm Ruby, by the way. Sorry, I couldn't stop by earlier. I was in meetings all day—just got back."

"Oh, don't worry! It's nice to meet you," Belle said, shaking her hand.

Jefferson took a step forward. "When he said that we were working together, what did Spencer say, exactly?"

"We're going to go get a bite to eat, and have a drink," Ruby said, ignoring Jefferson's whine of protest. "Would you like to join us?"

"Of course!" Belle said, happy for the distraction, and the chance to meet new friends after a long day.

"Great!" Ruby beamed. "Do you need to grab anything on the way?"

"No, I'm all locked up and have everything with me."

"Perfect," Ruby said. "Let's go celebrate then!"

"Ruby, here, is in charge of saving the wolves," Lance explained, leading the group towards the elevators.

"Yep, Bambi, I have to raise millions and millions of dollars every year, just so she can bribe some people to save a couple mutts."

Ruby's rolled her eyes at Jefferson in mock-anger. "That's not what I do. Environmental protection is about more than just that and you know it. Plus, those wolf pictures I gave you for your last event brought you in more money than you could count."

"No, I'm pretty sure that it was the cubs you brought in from the National Zoo."

"Hey, whatever works," Ruby said, winking. "And, wait—your name's Belle, right?"

"Yes, he has been calling me that—"

Ruby leaned over and smacked Jefferson's arm. "Why are you calling her Bambi, then?"

"What? She looks like Bambi; lost in the woods, all alone…"

"It sounds like a stripper name."

"How many strippers do you know named Bambi?" Lance asked.

"Why?" Ruby asked, raising a teasing eyebrow. "Worried that I might know one of your exes?"

"Whoa! Hold up there—I'm on your side," he said, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Plus, Bambi was a guy," Ruby continued, rolling her eyes as she turned back to Jefferson.

"You would be the one to know that," he shot back. "Tree hugger."

"That's 85% success rate tree hugger to you, Mr. 'I throw parties for a living.'"

"Hey, no party, no money. No money? Buh bye, wolves."

"Yeah, yeah. But, what I want to know is that if Belle's 'Bambi,' then what does that make you? Thumper? Or Bambi's mom?"

"Definitely, Thumper," Lance agreed. "Running around, bangin' all the—"

Jefferson jumped forward, blocking their path. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. What happened to our code?"

Ruby smiled knowingly, reaching around him to press the elevator's button. "Code? You two have a code? Oh, please tell me more."

"Please ignore him, Belle," Lance said apologetically. "Not all of us here are like Jefferson. Some of us actually use our assistants for work."

"I didn't see you complaining when I recruited that last one for you," Jefferson said.

"She was summa cum laude of Columbia!" Lance said, throwing up his arms. "Of course I wouldn't complain!"

"And more importantly, Miss Maryland." Jefferson said triumphantly, pretending to dust off his shoulders. "Admit it—I have a talent."

"You two need to stop before Belle starts judging us," Ruby said.

"No, no," Belle said, holding out her hand. "This is the most I've laughed all day."

"Except, of course, when you saw this peacock greet you this morning, right?" Ruby said, cocking her head towards Jefferson.

Jefferson jerked his head back in offense. "What's wrong with how I dress?"

Ruby simply arched her eyebrow, and looked away, not making eye contact.

"What? What's wrong? People like how I dress."

"What 'people'?" Lance asked.

Jefferson paused. "Important…people."

"And by 'important people,' you mean Sally, down in accounting?" Lance asked, smiling.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jefferson replied indignantly, looking dramatically away.

Belle couldn't help but join in their combined laughter at Jefferson's expense, as the elevator doors closed before them. If this was a preview of what she was in store for at this firm, she was at least going to have an entertaining couple of months before Spencer demanded her head on a platter. For now, though, she wasn't going to worry about that; she was going to enjoy herself.

~~+~~

Or not.

A "quick bite to eat, and a few drinks" had somehow turned into staying out well past midnight, as the three of them took turns introducing Belle to more people than she could keep track of, in what Jefferson and Lance had proclaimed proudly to be her official "Welcome to Washington" party. All of which led to Belle nearly sleeping through her 6:00 a.m. alarm.

Thankfully, Ruby—who they had both discovered excitedly around drink #2 was actually her neighbor—had called her, asking her if she wanted to catch a cab together, waking her up in the process. Ten minutes after she had hung up, Belle was walking out the door to meet Ruby, making it to work early, despite her near mishap.

"Alice!"

Belle finished paying the cabbie and groaned, recognizing the source of the yell walking up to her.

Ruby rolled her eyes as well, shooting Belle a sympathetic look. "Someone's clearly not feeling the effects from last night."

"Hope you got a good rest," Jefferson announced brightly, holding the passenger door open to a black town car parked inches from their own cab. "I'm taking you to Wonderland."

"What?"

"You heard me, Alice. I am off to be your guide, and to introduce you to all the wonders of this magical place, because according to this voicemail," he said, holding up his cell phone. "Apparently, you weren't joking yesterday when you said that Spencer wanted us to work together."

"Isn't Alice your ex-wife's name?"

Jefferson waved Ruby off. "That's besides the point."

"Here's a thought…call her by her real name," she said, playfully slapping his shoulder. "Lunch later, Belle?"

"Definitely," Belle agreed.

"I'll call you. And, Jefferson? Bring her back in one piece, please."

"When haven't I?"

"Gaston—"

"Point taken," Jefferson said, holding his hand up.

Ruby laughed, and shook her head. "I'll call you later, Belle."

"'Kay. Bye, Ruby!" She turned back around to her grinning colleague. "So? What's Wonderland?"

~~+~~

"You do know that you're going to need to close your mouth before we get out of the car, right?"

Belle had forgotten how to breathe, let alone remember how to close her mouth; all she could do was stare outside as their town car pulled up to the West Wing visitor's gate. "We're going in…inside?"

Jefferson nodded slowly, looking at her warily. "That _is_ the general idea, considering that you're going to have to meet the people inside so you can work with them later."

"You never said—"

"Where else did you think I was going to take you?"

"I…I don't know," Belle said, unable to tear her eyes away from the white building before her. "You could've warned me at least."

"See, I could've, but then if I had, I wouldn't have had the joy to watch this in person." Jefferson's face pulled into a mischievous smile, as he lifted up his phone slyly, pressing the "play" button. He had recorded the entire last five minutes. A five-year-old going to Disneyland for the first time had nothing on Belle's wide-eyed expression of wonder.

Belle lunged for the phone. "Give that to me."

"Oh, no," he said, pulling away, laughing. "This one is for the archives."

"Jefferson," she growled, baring her teeth at him. "Give. That. To. Me. _Now_."

"But it's so—"

"Give it to me now, or else I'll—"

"Okay, okay…easy there," Jefferson said, handing over the phone immediately.

Belle smiled in triumph, deleting the video with a simple click, and then tossed it back to him.

"I'm sensing that this is because I withheld your Starbucks this morning."

Belle rolled her eyes at him. Even though she was embarrassed slightly by her overreaction, there was no way in hell she was going to let that video stay in Jefferson's possession.

Jefferson leaned forward and banged on the vehicle's center partition twice. "Andrew, can you flip it back around to Fifteen and K?" He sat back, and tilted his head knowingly at her. "We're getting some caffeine in your system before we go in there."

"No, no, I'm fine, really. Sir, please stop here," she said, opening the door to emphasize her point.

"This is not going to end well," Jefferson said, sighing loudly as he closed his own door with a resounding bang.

"Jefferson, I already had my tea this morning. I'm fine."

"Who drinks tea?"

"I do."

He shook his head in disgust. "Oh, this won't do. This won't do at all."

"How about you tell me what we're going to do in there," Belle said, gesturing to the iconic building beyond the black, rod iron fence, "since I have no idea why you brought me here. Please tell me that we're not having a meeting with someone. I haven't prepared for anything yet."

"Easy there, sister. They're actually going to be looking forward to meeting us, and you in particular, especially after what happened yesterday."

"With Mills—?"

"No, about how the Redskins' lost."

Belle rolled her eyes, not amused in the least bit.

Her lack of enthusiasm subdued Jefferson's own, though only by a notch. "Yes, about Mills. I have a meeting with one of Gold's chief advisors about how their own fundraising prospects are looking. There's going to be a lot of nervous people in there today, even if they say otherwise."

"You brought me because they'll know that I worked for her."

"Well, that certainly wasn't on my 'con' list."

"Jefferson! I am not going to go in there and trash talk my old boss!"

"Why not? Everyone else does in this town."

Belle huffed and gritted her teeth. "Jefferson…."

"Hush, little grasshoppa, and listen to ore-sama. Think of this as simply a 'meet and greet.' I greet people—you meet people. All you need to do is smile and try not to offend anyone, which in your case, might just be damn near impossible, considering you'll probably be tripping over your feet just to be in their presence and talking to them."

"I will not!"

"Do I have to remind you about what just occurred in the car? Because it seemed to me—"

"All right, all right," she said in resignation, stopping to face him. "You don't need to remind me. I'm listening. Tell me what to do."

His face brightened immediately into a wide, gleeful smile. "First, we're going to have to go over the rules."

"The rules?"

"Oh, yes, grasshoppa. You can't get into Wonderland, without knowing the rules first."

~~+~~

"First time to the White House, ma'am?"

Belle looked up mid-signature, and couldn't help but let out an excited little laugh, which was answered by a groan from Jefferson beside her. "It is. Is it that obvious?"

"Not at all, ma'am," the guard said, flashing her a knowing smile. "Have a good time."

"Thank you," she said, feeling her cheeks burn as she accepted her bag and visitor badge from the kind gentleman. She looked over, noticing that Jefferson had already left the security check and was headed towards the West Wing lobby's doors. She slung her bag quickly over her shoulder and jogged up to meet him.

"Oh, you decided to join me after all. Splendid."

"You're the one who left me," she shot back.

"Well, you two were having such a great conversation, I didn't want to interrupt."

"Jefferson," she said, lowering her voice. "We're about to enter the building that I've been dreaming about my entire life. Could you _please_ be serious for just this little while?"

He looked over, and huffed. "Fine."

"And call me by my name. My real name."

"Any more requests?"

Two full-dressed Marines opened the doors in front of them, stymieing Belle's reply. A small smile pulled at her features as she took her first step onto the red runner. The hallowed lobby was both exactly, and yet at the same time, nothing like she had imagined it. She took another step inside, admiring the two large floral arrangements that were positioned in front of the antique mirrors that framed the cream walls.

"Hattier!"

Belle's head jerked back, as a _very_ angry-looking blonde woman stepped into the doorway, blocking their entrance to the lobby.

"Aww, Emma," Jefferson cooed, striding forward toward woman who was glaring daggers at him. "You came down to meet me? How sweet."

"What are you doing here? You were not on the visitor list."

"You check? I feel so loved."

"Yeah. Well, after that little stunt you pulled last time—"

Jefferson frowned, making a pained face. "Stunt? What stunt?"

Emma took a threatening step forward, gritting her teeth at him. "What stunt? How about _which_ stunt, Jefferson. How about the time when you 'got lost on the way to the restroom' and ended up in a Cabinet meeting, offering your services? Or, how about that time when you made an intern believe you were the new press secretary, and I had to escort you out of the press briefing room?"

"I'll admit—I was impressed with myself for that first one," he said, grinning.

"I bet. And it only cost two people their jobs—so I'm glad you're impressed with yourself. And speaking of security, how the hell did you get clearance again? I pulled it last week."

"And, apparently missed me enough to give it back again?"

"Whom did you get to reissue your clearance?" she asked, ignoring his insinuation.

"I dunno…" he said, gesturing with his hands. "People."

"People?" Emma deadpanned. "Well, I'm going to need the names of those 'people.'"

"I assure you, it's quite the list. I'll have to get it from your boss at our next yacht club meeting."

"Cute. Real cute. There's one problem though with your little act. You're on _my_ turf here now, and I don't care what names you throw around. You're not going anywhere until I clear you myself."

He smiled cheekily, raising his hands. "You know I'm always game for a pat-down."

"You're despicable—and insane."

"You love me. Oh, and where are my manners? Belle, meet my fiancé."

"I am _not_ his fiancé."

Jefferson leaned over. "She wants to keep it a secret 'til we tell the folks," he said, whispering loudly.

"I think one ex-wife in this building is more than enough for you to handle, Jefferson."

"I'm not so sure about that. How 'bout we try it, and see?"

Emma simply rolled her eyes at him.

Belle watched the exchange, wide-eyed, finally inching forward at the break in their little tiff. "Hi. I'm, um, Belle French," she said, extending her hand.

To her surprise, the woman took it. "Agent Emma Swan. I take it that you work with this piece of work?"

"As of yesterday."

"I'm sorry," Emma said, grimacing. "Would you like me to pass your resume around here?"

"Hey, be nice now," Jefferson interjected, holding up a hand. "Ms. French is fresh off the boat. Don't be putting any ideas in her head."

The agent smiled. "Any idea of mine would surely be better than yours."

"Ouch, that hurt."

"Yeah, you look really wounded," Emma said, raising her eyebrow.

"In here," Jefferson whispered, with a sad pout, pointing to his chest. He turned towards Belle, and tipped his head towards the blonde. "Agent Swan, here, is the head of the Vice President's security detail."

"You are?"

"Yep," she said, her eyes not leaving Jefferson's. Her finger suddenly went up to her earpiece. "Roger," she murmured, narrowing her eyes. "How the hell did you get a meeting with Booth this early?" She closed her eyes, sighing. "Don't," she said, holding up a hand. "I'm escorting you to his office. Personally."

"Great. Belle's never been to the White House before. Perhaps, you could give us a tour?"

Emma ignored him, leading them through the lobby, making a left down a long hallway.

"Fun Jeopardy fact: everyone in this building is somehow related to each other. Agent Swan, here, is actually related to the Vice President."

"Distantly," Emma corrected, glaring over her shoulder.

Jefferson raised his eyebrows playfully at Belle, and then strode forward to continue his pestering of Agent Swan.

Belle, though, was more interested in taking in the sights and sounds, than paying attention to their banter, and lagged behind. The hallways were crowded, but nowhere near as chaotic as she had expected from her repeated viewings of nearly every presidential movie and TV show ever produced. The décor, though, was as impeccable as she envisaged, with priceless works of art decorating every wall.

They made a left, down another corridor, and Jefferson balked immediately, halting in place.

"Can't we take the other stairs?"

Emma grinned mischievously. "Why? Afraid that you might run into someone here?"

"You told her didn't you?"

"Jefferson?" a familiar voice called out behind them.

All three of them turned around to see a beautiful, and instantly recognizable, woman walk down the narrow hall towards them.

"Alice, what a pleasant surprise," Jefferson said, sounding as if he felt it was anything but.

_Alice? Alice Carroll was the ex that Ruby was talking about?_ Belle's mind whirled. She never would have imagined that the White House Press Secretary would get into a relationship, let alone married, to a man like Jefferson.

The striking blonde smiled back at Jefferson, showing none of his unease. "Well, considering that I do work here, it shouldn't be that big of a surprise. I'm glad you're here though. Do you have a moment?"

Jefferson looked terrified suddenly. "I have a—"

"Meeting," she finished. "Of course you do. You can spare a moment."

"I can't. I'm already late for a meeting with Booth."

"And I doubt that he'll mind me stealing you away for a minute," she said smiling back. "Especially after you ignored all of my calls yesterday."

"I was busy."

"And, _I_ was only flying with the President to California and back while holding four press briefings. We're all busy Jefferson—that doesn't mean that you can't spare me the five minutes to call me back."

Emma raised a hand. "You know what? You two catch up. I can take Ms. French up to Booth's office."

"No, I...you...I need to—"

"Not a problem," Emma said, beaming with enjoyment over Jefferson's flustered reply.

"Thanks, Emma," Jefferson's ex said, grabbing him by the arm, and dragging him back towards an open door at the end of the hall.

Belle turned back around, not knowing exactly what to make of that scene. However, what she did know was that she was now headed for a meeting where she had no idea what she was supposed to talk about until Jefferson returned, which didn't look like it was going to be anytime soon.

"Sorry about that," Emma said, motioning towards the stairs. "I couldn't resist. Don't worry—he won't be long. It usually only takes a few minutes until they try to get each other escorted out of the building. I swear that if it wasn't for Grace, they would've killed each other by now."

"Grace?"

"Their daughter. Jefferson didn't tell you?" Emma raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Huh. Probably goes against his well-crafted image, but even I'll admit that he's actually a really good dad. She's a real sweet kid too, despite her crazy parents. She and my son are friends, so she comes over a lot." She stopped midstride, and pointed to a rich mahogany door beside the stairs. "Cabinet Room's in there. I'd let you go in, but they're having a meeting."

Belle gawked, wanting nothing more than to sneak a peek inside. After a moment, she remembered herself, and followed Emma up the stairs. "You have a son?"

"Henry," Emma said, offering her a smile over her shoulder as she climbed the narrow staircase. "He's a great kid, despite all the ways that I've tried, and somehow failed, to mess him up."

The upstairs continued to skew Belle's preconceived expectations of how the White House should look, in particular, the size of it. Not that she expected it to be large, but this was fairly small for the importance of the offices that it contained.

Emma led her to rich wooden door, at the end of the hall, and opened it without preamble, revealing a small reception area for three offices. The agent walked over to the door on the far left and knocked, opening it after there was no answer. "Looks like he's not here. Hmm…one moment." She pressed her finger up to her clear earpiece. "I need a location on Booth…thanks." She looked back at Belle. "He's still in the morning Cabinet meeting with the President. You can stay here until he's done. It shouldn't be much longer. Will you be all right if I leave you here until then? I have a bad feeling about leaving Jefferson alone."

"Yeah, no problem. I'll be fine," Belle agreed.

"Okay. Well, it was nice meeting you. Next time, come alone and I'll show you around."

"That'd be amazing. Thank you!"

"Of course. And let me know if you would like me to pass your resume around, too. You seem way too nice and normal to be hanging out with someone like Jefferson all day."

Belle simply laughed and shook her head. "It was nice meeting you too, Agent Swan," she said, earning a smile from the agent, before she turned and disappeared down the hallway, leaving Belle alone in the waiting area.

In their brief, five-minute conversation, prior to entering the security area, Jefferson had rambled on about the "rules" of how this little meeting was going to go. His "rules" ranged from the obvious to the bizarre, but never touched on what she was really interested about—who this "August Booth" was and why they were meeting him. The only thing that he had told her was that Booth was a Special Advisor to the President; a detail that Belle noted was something that she could have learned by herself by simply reading the name plaque on his door.

After waiting for nearly ten minutes, and enduring more curious stares than she cared for, Belle's trademark nerves of steel were starting to fray. Her mind began to whirl with scenarios as to why they were here. This Booth character—she knew that she could deal with him. However, it was the embarrassment of undoubtedly coming off as an uninformed fool that had her stomach in knots. Even though she had only been in the city for a few, short days; it didn't take a Beltway insider to know that a less-than-stellar performance would make it around the circuit fast.

_Jefferson, get your ass up here._

She glanced down the hallway again, praying that none of the men walking in the crowd that was making its way towards her were Booth. _Keep walking, keep walking, keep walking…oh, shit._

"Why, hello!" a beaming, blond man said, peeling away from the group to walk directly towards Belle. "I'm sorry. I didn't know I had an appointment this morning."

"Not a problem at all. I'm Belle French with Spencer & Associates. Are you Mr. Booth?"

The man laughed, walking past her to step fully inside. "Oh, no. Certainly not," he said. "Dr. Victor Whale, at your service. You're awfully pretty to be a lobbyist."

_And you're awfully close to a sexual harassment lawsuit,_ she thought, returning his smile. "Meaning what, exactly, Mr. Whale?"

"Nothing at all," he said, feigning hurt. "Simply making a compliment where one is due. My apologies if I have offended you."

"It's fine."

He grinned back, obviously knowing what he did. "So what brings you down here? Forgive me if I've kept you waiting long."

"Not at all. Actually, my meeting isn't with you. My associate and I have a meeting with Mr. Booth this morning."

His face fell. "Oh. Well, isn't he a lucky man to elicit such wonderful company this morning."

"What do you do here, Mr. Whale?" she asked, changing topics. "I know I've heard your name before, but I can't place it at the moment."

Whale smiled and pointed at the gold engraved plaque on the adjacent door: _Victor Whale, PhD, Special Advisor to President._ "You probably recognize me from _Meet the Press_ ," he said smugly. "I frequent that show often."

"That's…great. But, what do you do here? What does a 'Special Advisor' advise the President on exactly?"

"Do I sense a need for my services?"

"No, you can save all of your 'services' for the President. I was simply curious."

"Oh. Well…then," he said, trying, and failing, to hide his disappointment with a smile. "I primarily advise the President on social and health care issues." He stopped, taking a seat on the arm of the chair beside Belle, crossing his leg. "But, tell me more about yourself—what does ol' Spencer have you doing down there on K Street? I know I haven't seen you around before. I would have remembered."

_Ugh._ "I'm working on the Children First Act for him. I actually just got into town and started work yesterday."

Whale whistled, and raised his eyebrows. "Quite the undertaking for your first foray into the Gucci Gulch. You sure you're ready for that?"

"I am," she replied flatly, suppressing an urge to smack him.

"Hmm…Belle French. Your name sounds so familiar," he said, narrowing his eyes, and pointing to her. "You said that this is your first time working in DC?"

Her eyes flicked to her watch. "Thirty-eight hours, and counting."

Whale shook his head. "No, you've worked here before. I'm positive that I've heard your name around here before."

"Sorry," Belle said, with a shrug. "Just got here." She knew where this was going, and she did not want to get into a conversation about her old employer. As far as Belle was concerned, the two years she spent getting that witch elected into office were two years of her life wasted and she didn't want to spend another second talking about her.

"Belle French, did you say?"

Belle swung around at the new voice. A brown-haired gentleman was standing in the doorway, with a folder under his arm, smiling at her. "Yes, that's me."

The man strode forward, extending his hand. "August W. Booth. Jefferson called me this morning and said that you might be stopping by."

She took his hand and shook it firmly. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Booth."

"So where is that sneaky bastard? Did he slip downstairs again?" He laughed, placing the folder on the center coffee table. "Swan is going to have a fit!"

"He got tied up with Ms. Carroll on the way up here. I believe he should be here at any moment."

"Well, if he and Alice are going at it, it's gonna be a helluva lot longer than just a moment," Whale quipped beside her.

Booth smiled sympathetically at her. "Don't worry—it gives us time to get acquainted. Jefferson said that you were just hired at Spencer's. Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"Ms. French, here, is assigned to tackle the Children First Act."

"Really?" Booth remarked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. "Your assignment is that?"

"That's what I said!"

"Yes, it is." Belle tried, and failed, to quash her increasing irritation with everyone's flippant dismissal of her at the mere mention of the Act.

The advisors exchanged an amused look, clearly enjoying their private joke.

"I'm sorry," she interrupted, standing up so she was level with Booth. "Is there something that I should be aware of? Because it seems to me that if this Act is such a piece of 'joke' legislation that you both insinuate it is, there wouldn't be this amount of money behind it."

"We never said that it was a joke," Booth said, holding out his hand. "But you have to know, Ms. French, that the Children First Act is never going to make it to the floor, let alone out of the committee. All that money that Spencer probably told you about is there simply so those backers can maintain appearances."

"Gentlemen, you may be in for a surprise in the next few months. That bill's going to the floor for a vote."

Whale shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Even if it does, we have the majority. Hell, we have the majority in the House and the Education Committee. That bill's dead in the water once Hammond announces it. Really, you shouldn't fret over it—that's just how it is. They brought you in because they knew that it wasn't going to pass. They need a reason explain to everyone why their money is gone."

"I'm not a fall guy. I was brought in to get this bill passed, and that's what I'm going to do."

Booth grimaced, motioning his hands in a futile gesture. "Look, Ms. French, neither of us is suggesting that you're not qualified, or aren't the best at what you do. I bet you're great at what you do. But in the end, he's right—the Republicans up for re-election need us next year when election season rolls around. They're not going to risk something as silly as letting that bill get passed, and put to a vote. Not going to happen."

"So your boss—"

"The President," Whale corrected proudly.

"So the _President_ ," Belle said, narrowing her eyes at Whale, "has put the kill order out on the bill?"

"He doesn't have to," Booth said. "All of our people know the deal. No one's going to go vote against him. President's a powerful man—they need his coattails."

"And he's mean," his counterpart added gleefully.

"I don't care if he's mean or not, but one thing's for sure —he's not powerful. Have you two looked at your recent polling data lately, or have _conducted_ any polling lately? You're twelve points down against any Democratic challenger. If Mills wins the nomination, then you're down nineteen to twenty two points, depending on the polling demographic, and those are the conservative numbers."

"What are you saying?"

Belle turned to Booth, who was now eyeing her suspiciously. "I'm saying that you're not the juggernauts in your party, and you both know it. Those Congressmen up for re-election want nothing to do with this White House. In fact, the last thing they probably want is an endorsement from you. The first thing they're going to do is come running to my clients that are supporting that bill to fund their Super PACs."

"He's still the President though," Whale said weakly.

"I never said that he wasn't, but you two have to face the reality —the whole 'single dad, war hero shtick' might have worked two years ago, but now you're looking at a 38% approval rating, and an downward turning economy, when you ran your last campaign on 'Business First.'

"Face it; the last thing you want is to have another target on your backs. If the President vetoes the Children First Act, regardless of your objections to the bill, you'll be in trouble, because the polls also show that education is poised to be a hot button issue next year, and since you barely made off with the electoral vote the last time, you're going to need to shore up those the main battleground states, three of which happen to be Ohio, Florida, and North Carolina. Want to guess what those states' constituents voted as their number two concern, after the economy?" she said, enjoying their shocked faces.

"So really, it comes down to two options. First option—the President passes the bill, and gets to make education one of his campaign tent poles next year. Or option two—the President decides to pull this partisan bullshit, and forces the bill to be shot down, only to have the Democrats make a mass run to Kinko's the same day to get banners made proclaiming how your party is against children.

"Frankly, gentlemen, it's not that hard of a choice. And if you're going to sit here and tell me, with a straight face, that those Congressmen are going to kill this bill because they need the President's coattails to get reelected, then you really need to get out of this building a little more often. The President may be as mean as you say he is, but he sure as hell isn't as powerful as you think."

"Well, that's disappointing to hear."

Belle froze, seeing her entire life flash before her eyes in one, slow moment. _Oh…My...God._

She didn't know if she was about to pass out or throw up; in fact, dying seemed like the best, and most likely, option. At least if she dropped dead, she wouldn't have to turn around and face the man standing behind her.

_Turn around,_ she reminded herself. _You have to turn around_. _Turn around_ now. However, her entire body betrayed her, somehow becoming numb and immobile. _Move your damn feet,_ she swore, trying to ignore his advisors' widening grins as she turned slowly around to face the man that she had just insulted in every possible way.

He was standing before her in the doorway, outfitted in his trademark tailored black suit and cane, and looking upon her with a bemused smirk on his face.

"Mr. President, I…I am so sorry," she breathed, stopping herself so she could swallow the rising bile in her throat. _Oh, my God._

"Sir, do you need something?" Whale asked cheerfully behind her.

The President shook his head at the question, as he continued to keep his intense gaze directed at Belle. "No, I was simply passing by, and I heard my name mentioned at least three times, so I thought that it might be worthwhile to come over," he said casually, his carefully schooled light brogue making his words roll off his tongue.

Belle's head swam and she felt sick at the realization that he had just heard everything she had said. She tried to quickly review what she had just ranted about, but her mind went completely blank.

"Please—do continue," he said, waving his free hand at her. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Sir…I—"

"Were on quite the roll there," he finished. "I'm particularly interested in your claim that I don't have any power. That was quite intriguing to me. Care to elaborate more on that?" he asked, his brown eyes alight with amusement.

"Mr. President, I was out of line. I am so, so, sorry. I never would have—"

"Do you have a meeting right now?"

"What…?"

He grinned. "Of course, you do. Silly of me to ask. But, as it seems that you're more interested in discussing my political clout, I would be most grateful if you wouldn't mind foregoing that meeting, in order to spare me a moment of your time, instead."

"Mr. President, I spoke rashly. I was completely out of line, I didn't mean—"

"You mean to say that you don't believe what you just said?" he said in challenge, flinching back in feigned surprise.

Belle gawked in embarrassment, and felt her words fail her once again, as the room resumed its spinning motion, leaving her lightheaded.

Her silence was met with another wider grin. "That's what I thought. Now, if you don't have any objections, I would prefer to have this conversation downstairs, Ms…"

"French," she whimpered.

"Ms. French," he repeated, enunciating her name with aplomb. "Please," he said, signaling the exit with a flicker of his eyes.

Belle found herself suddenly unable to move, or breathe for that matter.

"Ms. French?"

"Coming, Mr. President." _Just as soon as I remember how to walk._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you also to my wonderful beta Luthien for looking this over!

"Nice to meet you, Ms. French."

Belle paused midstride and glanced back at a smiling Booth. "Uh, you too," she managed breathlessly.

"Hope you see you around again," Whale added, grinning along with his colleague.

"Yeah, well…" she said, stopping herself from commenting further on the unlikelihood of that ever happening now, and instead, jumpstarted her legs to jog after the President who was already almost to the end of the hallway.

Out of nowhere, an extremely tall, and intimidating, Secret Service agent intercepted her mid-stride, causing her to collide with him.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," she said, holding out her hands in apology. _As if this could get any worse._

The man simply stared down at her, not moving.

She tried to look around him, but the agent moved with her, blocking her view. "Sir, I'm supposed to be going with—"

"She's with me, Dove," Gold called out.

The bald agent stepped aside at the President's command, letting Belle pass, although not before giving her a very suspicious onceover as she walked by.

Forcing back her pride, and nerves, Belle inched forward, not quite pulling even with the President, but nevertheless, walking close enough to earn a sly glance from the man himself.

He led her down the hall to an elevator, standing aside for Belle to walk in ahead of him. She could only lamely follow his direction, and stare up at the ceiling as he assumed a place beside her. _Don't throw up. Don't throw up. Breathe….Just breathe…._

"Is this your first time to the White House?"

"Ah, yes…yes, it is, sir," she replied, quickly resuming her examination of the ceiling.

"And, are you enjoying yourself so far?"

She bit her tongue, silencing her first reply. "I—"

The elevator doors opened before her, cutting off her response. Dove stepped out first and extended his arm to hold the door for the President. Belle waited a moment for Gold to exit, only to realize a moment later, after he pointedly motioned her forward with a flick of his wrist, that he was waiting for her to step out first. _Someone please shoot me._

"So you never answered my question, Ms. French," he said, following her out and slowing his pace down to force her walk next to him. "Are you enjoying your visit?"

 _What do you think?_ Belle thought, knowing that in this moment, she would trade her firstborn willingly in exchange for an opportunity to have a do-over of the last ten minutes, or even the last five. "It's been quite the experience."

"Indeed, it has. You took my two men to task up there."

"Sir, I didn't intend to—"

He stopped abruptly, flashing her a knowing smile. "Yes, you did," he said. "Dove?" he called out, looking behind her. "Would you please escort Ms. French to my office?"

The agent nodded wordlessly in reply, and stepped aside, gesturing Belle forward.

"I'll be with you in a moment, Ms. French. Please, do try your hardest not get into any other arguments until I return. I'd hate to miss a second of your next one."

"Mr. President, I—" Before she could finish, the President cut off her apology by vanishing through the door before them.

She stared at the closed door, and wondered for a brief moment if there was a way that she could vanish behind a door as well, or at the very least, run away from this upcoming conversation. However, Gold's body man seemed to be insistent on not letting her out of his sight, and gestured her forward once again. With a sigh, she followed him down the corridor, and along a bend, until he stopped, opening the door before her.

Belle was rendered mute at the sight of where the agent had brought her. Yes, it was exactly where she had suspected that they were going, but to be actually standing in the Oval Office, a step away from the President's grand wooden desk, which was placed before the iconic triptych of draped arched windows was surreal. Even the Remington bronze of the cowboy breaking a horse was displayed on a pedestal in the corner, just as she had envisaged it would be. Belle didn't know whether she should laugh, cry, or pass out, but she was tempted to do all three, even with Dove staring at her.

After waiting for the President for nearly ten minutes, Belle's curiosity finally got the best of her, and she ventured closer to the objects decorating the room, allowing herself a slow, reverent circuit around the oval room, as she tried to commit everything to memory. _Aww, there's even the Rose Garden_ , she smiled, spotting the plentiful blooms outside past the veranda.

"Quite the view, isn't it?"

Belle yelped in surprise, and spun around; the President was standing on the opposite side of the room, holding a manila folder under his arm, with an inscrutable look upon his face.

"The garden," he said, waving to the windows. "I've been informed that those are the only blooming roses in all of DC right now."

"Oh…" Belle replied, trying to find words amidst the shock of his presence. "They're, uh, they're very beautiful, Mr. President."

"They should be considering they have to replant the damned things every week. Appearances, and all, you understand—certainly can't have the Rose Garden without roses."

"No, you can't," Belle agreed, biting back a smile at the dryness of this remark.

"That'll be all, Dove," he said, dismissing the stoic agent, before turning back to Belle. "I apologize for keeping you waiting for so long. Just had to go pick up this," he said, waving the file at her.

"Not a problem at all, sir."

"I had to see what I was getting myself into, by bringing you down here alone; I wasn't about to be caught unawares like those two upstairs."

Belle grimaced in renewed embarrassment. "Sir…Mr. President…I…"

He ignored her, opening the file to read whatever damning contents he had found on her. "It says here that you ran Senator Mills' campaign?"

"Yes, I did…how did you—?"

He closed the manila file abruptly, and limped over towards his desk, placing it on the corner. "Your FBI file."

"My _what_?"

"No need to worry yourself."

"I have an FBI file?"

"You do."

Belle's mind whirled as she stared down at the file. "What…why do I…? Wait—how did you get my FBI file?"

"Called up the Director and asked him to have it emailed over. One of the many perks of having…what is it? Ah, yes. _Power_."

"The Director of the FBI just sent you my FBI file?" Belle asked again in disbelief, still too preoccupied with the fact that she had a file respond to any of his petty digs.

"He did, indeed."

"But I haven't done anything wrong. How can I have an FBI file?"

"Well, it might have something to do with the fact that you went to, oh let's see…what was it again?" he said, opening the file on the desk. "Ah, yes, Harvard."

"What?"

"Harvard, m'dear. You went there," he remarked flatly.

"I did. But, what's wrong with going Harvard?"

"Too many things to mention, quite frankly."

"Excuse me?" Belle asked, frowning in confusion at where he was going with this.

"Well, I don't want to keep you here longer than necessary. It might take me several hours to list the many reasons about why you made an egregious error by going there," he replied, with the barest hint of a teasing smile.

Belle paused, catching his eye, and holding it for a long moment. She had never heard of, or ever seen, any sort of display of humor by the man. In fact, she was quite sure that his advisors' opinion of him was correct. However, there was no denying that the man before her was obviously teasing her. Throwing caution to the wind, Belle decided on a whim to play a long. "Will I be able to do the same for you about Yale, sir?"

He tilted his head, and blinked in surprise. "You know that I went there?"

"I can sense the jealousy," she teased, barely suppressing her smile.

"As can I," he shot back. "You do know that we were ranked #1 this year?"

"For the Law School," Belle said, "—not overall. And plus, it's a biased poll."

"Biased on what?"

"Skewed data from bitter Yale alumni."

"That's impossible because there are none."

"Really?" Belle smiled, arching her brow. "Even after our rout of you _again_ this year? What does that make it? The 6th year in a row that we've beat you in football?"

"We still have the overall winning record."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep better at night." She waited, smiling, for Gold to jab back, but instead, he simply stared back at her in surprise, his face resuming his blank mask. _Oh my God, what did I do?_ "Sir, I'm…I didn't mean—"

"Please, Ms. French, there's no need to apologize," he said, flatly, giving her a tight-lipped smile. "I enjoy a spirited discussion as much as you, apparently."

Belle began to panic at his sudden coldness. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't…May I start over?" she asked, pantomiming the motion for him frantically.

"What?"

"Start over," she repeated. "That is, if you don't mind, because I'd really like to, if only because I'm fairly sure that you now think that I'm either out of my mind, or probably quite a many number of horrible things that I'm not, and I would really rather not leave that impression upon you, so…if you don't mind, can we just forget these last twenty minutes or so?"

"No."

"No?"

"I'm afraid not," he said, shaking his head as he leaned on his cane. "As you said, you leave quite the impression, Ms. French; one that I would rather not forget so quickly."

"But—"

"Be that as it may, though," he continued over her, "I was sincere in my request upstairs to have you elaborate more on what you meant when you said that I wasn't as powerful as I thought."

Belle's heart began to pound, and her nausea came back full force. "Sir, that was simply me getting riled up and trying to prove a point."

"And what was that?"

"My point?" He nodded. "They said that I was simply hired to be a fall guy, and wouldn't have a shot of getting my bill passed."

"And what bill is that?"

"The Children First Act."

"Then, they're correct."

"What?"

He shrugged. "They're correct. That bill isn't going to pass, and if it does, I'll veto it."

"They'll override it."

"No, they won't, because you don't have the votes," he said matter-of-factly. "But, it doesn't matter anyways, because it'll never get to that point. That bill's not going to get out of the committee."

Belle opened her mouth to reply, but he silenced her protest with a finger, which grated on her nerves. Nevertheless, she held her tongue.

"Ms. French, do you know how many times that particular bit of legislation has been put to the committee's vote in the time that I've been President?"

"Three times."

He nodded, leaning on his cane with both hands. "That's correct. And do you know why it has never been able to get to a floor vote?"

"Because the Republicans have the majority in the committee and have blocked it."

"Precisely."

"That won't happen this time, though."

"And, why's that?"

Belle grinned, feeling a resurgence of her previous confidence. "Because, I'm going to get them to vote it through."

"You?"

"Me."

"And, then, what will you do when it goes to a vote? You don't have the votes for it to pass anyways."

"That you know of."

"M'dear, I know whose votes I have."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Belle countered. Money talked, especially in an election season, with Super PACs providing the majority of the funding to nearly every campaign.

"You think that you're going get those men— _my_ men—to break their deals with me?"

"That's the plan."

Gold's lips quirked upwards into a grin, but there was no longer any amusement in his eyes. "No one breaks deals with me, Ms. French."

"You don't think that I can do it?" she asked, narrowing her eyes back at him.

"I don't doubt that you'll give it a hard fought try, but no, you won't be able to do it."

 _A hard fought try?_ "Well, you're going to be in for a surprise, then."

"I am, am I?" he asked, pressing his hand to his chest in feigned shock, which only served to piss Belle off more.

"Yes, you are," Belle replied tightly, beyond irritated with his patronizing behavior. "And you know what? I am—" she stopped herself, literally biting her tongue.

"You are…what?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Well, you can't stop there and leave me in suspense," he said, holding out his hands. "Please, continue."

A light knock sounded on the door. "Mr. President?"

Belle, along with the President, turned around at the question. A short, gray-haired woman was holding the door open, leaning her head inside.

"The Energy Secretary is here."

"Tell him that I'm in a meeting."

"You don't have a meeting."

"I do now, Mrs. Potts. Tell him I'll be with him soon," he replied gruffly, his eyes continuing to bore into Belle's.

The woman smiled, and tilted her head in acknowledgement. "Very well, sir," she said, pulling the door closed behind her.

"Now…where were we?"

Belle glanced back at the door. "Sir, if you have a meeting, then I should—"

"Have you ever met the Energy Secretary, Ms. French?"

"Ah, no, sir."

"Lucky for you. If you had, then you would know that that insufferable man can wait a bit longer," he said, sneering in disgust. "This—" he said, pointing between the two of them, "is much more important."

"I doubt that, sir."

His head jerked sharply back. "You're doubting the judgment of the President of the United States?"

Belle's jaw dropped. "No, of course not, sir."

He relaxed immediately, and gave her a pleasant smile, before turning to walk back over to his desk, making Belle dually want to sigh with relief, and yell at him over his irritating bi-polar behavior. She was starting to believe that maybe there something to what her father said about the man during his daily rants.

"Ms. French," he said, turning back to her, "how long have you been here in Washington?"

"Almost two days, sir," she replied, staying rooted in place.

"Two days? That's all?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

"You're awful brave for someone with so little experience."

"Well, I wouldn't say that I don't have any experience, sir," she countered. "Just because I haven't worked in this town, doesn't mean that I'm not competent."

"I never said your competency was in question. I was simply making a comment on your character."

"My character?"

"Yes, I thought it was a valid observation—a compliment, really," he said, shrugging. "But back to what we were discussing—why is it that you feel like you can use my lack of power to get that piece of legislation passed?"

"Sir, I…"

"Were quite vocal on that point upstairs."

"But, sir…"

"Don't try to deny what you said."

"I wasn't going to," Belle said, surprising herself.

"Then, please enlighten me."

"Sir, it's a little hard to have this discussion with you in here, especially when you're standing directly on top of the presidential seal," she said, pointing to the carpet.

"Oh, my apologies." He took a step to the right, barely clearing the carpeted insignia. "Is that better?"

"Are you mocking me, sir?"

"No, I was simply trying to acquiesce to your demands, in order to get an honest answer out of you."

"Why does it matter what I think? You have dozens of pollsters and advisors in this building that you can get this information from."

"But, they're not you." She opened her mouth to respond, and he held his hand up, stopping her. "I'm not looking for someone to patronize me, or coddle me from the truth, Ms. French. I have enough of those people here. I'm looking for someone who will walk into this building, after being in Washington for only a day, and then tell me that I am going to lose the election because I'm operating on a false sense of power."

Belle cheeks burned, and she averted her eyes, staring at the carpet, wanting nothing more than to curl into a little ball and die of embarrassment.

"I believe you are such a person, are you not?"

She grimaced, keeping her eyes down. "I suppose I am, sir."

"Good."

Belle waited a long while, the silence becoming deafening. "I don't know what you want me to say, Mr. President," she murmured, barely able to look up and meet his piercing gaze.

"The truth. I want to know how it is you know so much about me."

"I do my homework."

"I think that it's more than that," he said in challenge, looking pointedly at the manila folder on the desk.

Nothing could have snapped Belle out of her stupor more, than his blatant insinuation. "And in 'more,' you mean to say that the reason I know so much about this is because I ran your primary opponent's campaign?"

"That may have crossed my mind."

"Sir, that was two years ago, and even if I did know anything, I wouldn't tell you anyways. No matter what my opinion of Senator Mills is, I'm not going to divulge privileged information just to get ahead and show off. I do my own work and conduct my own polling, unlike apparently some people in this town. Those figures that I talked about upstairs were from a day ago. I got them myself."

"From where?"

"I'm not going to answer that, sir."

He smirked, and took a couple steps toward her. "You surprise me, Ms. French."

"In what way?"

Gold's eyes searched her face, making Belle nearly flinch under the intense scrutiny. "You don't strike me as someone that Cora would have trusted to run her daughter's campaign."

"And what sort of person would you expect?"

"Vicious beyond compare."

Belle couldn't help but smile at that.

"Something amusing you, m'dear?"

"Nothing. It's just…that's exactly how she described you."

"Cora?"

"Both of them, actually."

He snorted, and shifted his feet. "And what of you? What do you believe I am?"

"I don't know," Belle answered honestly. "But, you don't seem to be the monster that they insinuated you were."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, Ms. French."

Belle looked directly at him, trying to see if he was talking in jest again, but his face was hard and frustratingly blank. "And what about me? Do you think I'm vicious?"

"I haven't decided yet—however, there's little else that woman values in people."

"I found that Cora doesn't care what a person is as long as they get her to win. I don't have to be vicious, or ruthless for that matter, to win."

"And what do you have to be?"

"Good," she replied confidently. "Something that you'll soon find out when I will get that bill to pass."

He chuckled, tipping his head. "We're back to the bill, now, are we?"

Belle smiled and nodded. "We're back to the bill. Mr. President, I know that I was completely and utterly out of line and tactless upstairs, but what I said, I meant. I'm going to get this bill passed. It's what I was hired to do, and I'll get it done, with or without your administration's help. And it's in your best interest to help it along."

"Is that a threat?"

"Observation."

"I'm killing the bill, Ms. French, and there's nothing you can do to convince me otherwise."

"What if I made you a deal?"

He chuckled, shifting his feet while he adjusted his grip on his cane. "A deal? Dear, I don't need to make a deal with you. You see…I have enough power to do what I want already," he said, spreading his hands outward.

"What if I had something that you wanted more?"

"Well, I suppose that it would depend on what you're offering."

"A name," Belle said, her heart pounding in her chest.

"A name?"

"Yes."

"You just said that you weren't vicious."

"I never said that I wasn't smart."

Gold stepped forward, close enough for Belle to smell his spicy cologne, and looked down at her, searching her eyes. "Your terms?"

Belle took a deep breath, unable to look away from his piercing eyes, as she weighed what to say. "Guarantee that you won't kill the bill on sight—that you'll let it get to a vote. Whether or not I get the votes is my problem, but you won't kill it as soon as it reaches the committee."

"That's a tall order m'dear," he said quietly. "Once you give me the name, what incentive do I have to make a deal?"

"None. However, if I tell you the name, and you believe that it's worth what I've asked…will you agree to the deal?"

"I will."

Belle's chest clenched around her pounding heart, and her mouth went dry. "Mallie Cifanté."

"Cifanté?"

She nodded. "They cut a deal for her to run on the ticket, should Regina win the nomination, and by all looks of it, she is a lock."

"I thought that you said you wouldn't use anything you knew against Mills?"

"No, I said that I wouldn't repeat anything that I knew from the time I worked there. This is recent."

"How recent?"

"This weekend."

Gold grumbled to himself. "Cora," he spat, shaking his head. "They'll never get together; those two hate each other—always have."

"When did that stop anyone in this town? I mean, you can't honestly tell me that you only picked Nolan for his good looks and charm."

"I did pick Nolan for only his good looks and charm," he replied dryly.

"I know!" Belle chuckled, enjoying the look of shock on his face that she had caught him.

Gold blinked, and then slowly joined in her laughter. They finally quieted, and he extended his hand. "I believe you have yourself a deal, Ms. French."

"Thank you, Mr. President," she said, taking his hand in hers. He barely returned the handshake though, instead treating her hand as if it was glass that would break if he gripped it any harder.

Releasing her hand after a long moment, yet not moving away, he glanced over to the door. "Mrs. Potts!" he called out, his eyes returning to Belle's.

The door creaked behind them a second later.

"Yes, Mr. President?"

"Tell the Secretary that I'll see him, now."

"Yes, Mr. President," the woman said, shutting the door quietly behind her.

"Well, Ms. French, regretfully, I have to go talk to a far less interesting person than you now."

"Of course…I mean, thank you for taking the time talk to me, sir," Belle said, feeling a strange sense of regret that their conversation was over.

"The pleasure was all mine, Ms. French."

Belle could only smile in response, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in his presence once again, feeling as if some invisible barrier was now placed between them. "Good day, Mr. President," she murmured, turning on her heel to leave the room.

"Ah…Ms. French?"

She stopped, turning back around. "Yes, sir?"

The corners of his eyes were creased in a soft smile. "Good luck."

"Thank you, sir," she said, smiling warmly back. "There is nothing I love as much as a good fight."

"Franklin Delano Roosevelt," he said in recognition, his smile widening to match her own.

"Indeed," she confirmed. "Another distinguished Harvard alumni," she added conspiratorially, earning a deep chuckle. "Good day, Mr. President."

"Good day to you as well, Ms. French."

Belle bowed her head, sneaking one last smile and glance at the President, and then turned and quickly left the room.

~+~

"So after I finally able to escape out of Medusa's evil lair, I go up to Booth's office, and guess who isn't there?"

"Jefferson, you told them this story already," Belle said, groaning as she sank back into her chair.

"Lance didn't hear it."

"Yeah, I haven't heard it," Lance agreed. "You can't send me a text message like that, and then hold out on me now. I've been held hostage on that damn Rhodes conference call for the past hour waiting to come talk to you. I can tell that this is a good one; I'm not missing out."

Belle groaned again. She couldn't endure another retelling of this tale, but she knew that there was no getting around it. "No one's repeating a word of this," she said, narrowing her eyes and pointing at all of three of her colleagues, lingering the longest on Jefferson.

"Bambi, I hate to break it to you, but everyone in Washington knows this story now, or at least will in the next hour when all the bars open."

"Okay, okay, enough with the dramatics," Lance said, motioning his hand. "Get on with the story. I gotta game to get to."

"Is that door closed?"

Ruby leaned back, and gave the door a firm tug, pressing the lock button on the handle.

"Thank you." Belle sighed, collapsing into her chair once again, bracing herself for another stirring rendition of Jefferson's retelling.

"So, where was I?"

"You had just gotten back to Booth's office and Belle wasn't there."

"Right," he said, agreeing to Ruby. "So I go up there, and Booth and the Doctor damn near tackle me as soon as I get on the second floor, and pull me into their office. It took me at least ten minutes to get them to stop talking at the same time, so I could at least understand what they were saying. And throughout all of this, I kept asking them: 'Where's Belle?' Finally, Emma helped me out and told me that the President took her down to the West Wing."

"What?" Lance exclaimed, looking over at Belle.

"I know, I know…it gets better, though," Jefferson said, holding out his hands for effect. "So I asked them—'Why is Belle in a meeting with the President?' And they tell me that it's because she had a full-on rant about how she's going to stick that education bill right up their asses—"

"I did _not_ say that!"

Jefferson waved her off. "She basically told them that the President has no political clout, and that they better put up, or shut up, on the Children First Act, or else they're not going to get reelected." He stopped, dramatically holding out his hand for Belle to confirm.

She could only wince and close her eyes. "Yeah…I might have said something like that."

Lance's jaw dropped. "You _said_ that?"

Jefferson held his hand up, silencing his friend. "Oh, no, it gets better."

" _How?_ "

Jefferson grinned wolfishly. "The President was standing behind her the entire time while she was saying this."

Lance coughed, doubling over. "Holy fuck! He was— _what_?"

"I didn't _know_ ," Belle groaned, covering her face once again.

"Wait—" Ruby said. "What were the other two doing, while you were arguing with them?"

"Nothing!" Belle yelled, raising her arms in frustration. "They were just standing there! I had no idea at all that anyone, let alone the President, was standing behind me."

"How much did he hear?" Ruby asked.

"Everything!" Jefferson exclaimed.

Lance gasped. " _Everything_?"

"Yeah…pretty much," Belle confirmed, suddenly wanting go hide in a dark hole somewhere.

"So what happened after that?" Ruby asked.

" _That,"_ Jefferson said, tilting his head towards Belle _,_ "is a question for our little wolf in sheep's clothing here, since she won't tell me a damn thing."

"That's because nothing happened!" Belle emphatically cried, sick of Jefferson asking her the same question over and over. "I went in there, we talked, and then I left. It lasted five, ten minutes tops."

"You were in the Oval Office, by yourself, for ten minutes, and nothing happened?" Lance asked slowly.

"Yes."

"By yourself?" Lance repeated dubiously.

"Yes, that's what I said."

"You were in the Oval Office for ten minutes?" Lance asked again.

Belle nodded, sighing in frustration. "Yes, I was in the Oval Office for ten minutes. Really, guys, I don't think that—"

Jefferson jumped off the desk, interrupting her, and gave a little twirl. "So, back to Belle's clandestine meeting—would you like to hear my theories?"

"About what?" Ruby asked.

Belle covered her face again, while sinking lower into her leather chair, knowing what he was about to say. _Not this again…_

"Well," Jefferson exclaimed, "she might be all clamed up about what happened in there, but I happen to know what took place afterwards."

"What happened?" Ruby asked, glancing over at Belle.

"Ruby—" Belle warned.

"I'm sorry," her friend apologized with a wince. "But, Belle, you have to admit—this is good stuff. I mean, you're really not going to tell us what happened in there?"

"Nothing happened!"

"Yeah, yeah, so you say," Jefferson grumbled, waving her off. "Apparently, after we left, Gold's team ordered four polls to be sent out into the field regarding the implications for the Children First Act's on his reelection."

"Ooo," Lance cooed, winking at Belle. "You got 'em runnin' scared now."

"Yeah, she does. But here's the strangest part," Jefferson said, pausing dramatically. "I get a call later from an unnamed, senior White House source—"

"Booth," Ruby said, rolling her eyes.

"Whose name may, or may not have been Booth," he amended. "Who told me that after we left, Gold was in a good mood—actually _smiling_ at people." He took a step back and pantomimed dropping a microphone, as if he had just won his argument.

"Wow, that's amazing, Jefferson. The man smiled," Belle said flatly. "I've never heard of anyone doing that before."

"That _is_ amazing," Lance countered. "That guy is a Grade-A asshole. I heard that they actually have to instruct him on how to smile for his photo ops, just so he appears to be friendly. For him to just walk around and smile? Man, I want to know what went on in that room now, too."

"The man smiled," Belle said, shrugging. "So what?"

"So the possibilities are endless as to what went on in that room! I mean, here on one hand, they're acting like you scared the hell of out them, yet Scrooge is walking around smiling at everyone. We're missing something here—there's something you're not telling us."

"We had a conversation, Jefferson! That's all."

"Mm hmm. That's all," he repeated, raising his eyebrow in suspicion. Suddenly, he jumped up, and slammed his hands on her desk. "That's it—we're all going down to Paddy's and getting you drunk so you'll tell us."

Belle laughed, and shook her head. "Oh no, no, no. As much fun as I had last night, I obviously do not work well the next day after a night like that."

"You had ten unscheduled, uninterrupted minutes with the President in the Oval Office, after calling him powerless, _and_ you still have your job—I think you're doing pretty damn well, if you ask me." Lance winked. "Maybe we need to take you out more often."

"No. Look you laugh now, but once Spencer finds out what I did, he's going to fire me."

"No, he won't," Ruby said, shaking her head, smiling confidently.

"Ruby's right. We're living and working smack dab in the middle of the 24 hour news cycle. I hate to tell you, but Spencer already knows. The good news, though, is that it's 6:37 p.m., and you are still officially an associate of Spencer & Associates, which basically means that you're staying. I mean, how could he possibly let an attack dog like you go? Someone who has the guts to tell the President of the United States, to his face, that he's pretty much the leper of his party? Bambi, you are officially the Cujo of this firm."

"Jefferson, I'd really prefer not to be called either of those things."

"Yeah," Ruby agreed. "Why can't you just call her by her real name?"

"Because, it's not as fun? What?" he said, shrugging. "You're expecting a different answer?"

Ruby sighed and shook her head.

"And at that," Lance announced, "I'm out of here. Belle—good story; I'm glad that you made it out alive. Next time bring me along instead. I won't ditch you. Ruby? I'll see you tomorrow. I'm off now to go enjoy watch my Heat do what they do best, courtesy of my friend, Jeffé, here."

"I was working with flawed data," Jefferson whined. "It wasn't a fair bet."

"Work with better intel," Lance said, smirking as he opened the door. "'Til tomorrow, ladies!"

"Bye, Lance!" Belle and Ruby called out in unison.

Ruby turned back to Belle. "How about you? Are you headed out as well? I'm headed home, if you would like to share a cab."

"Thanks, but I think that I'm going to stay here for a little while longer."

"Belle, you're going to be _fine_ ," Ruby said, as if sensing her fear. "Come on—let's go home."

"No, just a little longer. I promise. I'll be following you out shortly."

Ruby narrowed her eyes, and huffed. "All right, fine. Don't stay too late, though. Come on, troublemaker," she said, slapping Jefferson's arm with her bag. "You too."

Jefferson froze, looking up from examining the contents of Belle's unpacked box of office trinkets.

"Leave her in peace, at least until tomorrow."

"Fine," he said morosely, following Ruby out. "Bye, Bambi! Remember, don't go out into the meadow by yourself—that's where the hunters are."

Ruby punched his arm. "'Night, Belle!"

"Goodnight, guys!" Belle called out.

The door slammed shut behind them, finally leaving Belle in absolute quiet; the first quiet that she had enjoyed all day.

She spun around in her chair, back towards the city skyline that she had been attempting to memorize ever since she had returned to her office. Despite her friends' confidence about the situation, she knew that Spencer was going to be less than pleased when he found out what she had done and wanted to remember these last few hours that she had left in her dream office, before she was unceremoniously fired tomorrow.

A knock sounded on the door, and Belle spun back around, barely getting out of her chair before the door slowly creaked open. Ariel, one of her new assistants, peeked her head in.

"Ariel, what are you still doing here?"

The sweet redheaded girl smiled, and stepped fully into the office. "I was waiting for them to leave," she said quietly. "A courier came an hour ago with this, I didn't want to say anything, and interrupt you," she explained, holding out a white package.

Belle took it from her. It was small—nearly the same size of a FedEx envelope—yet it was curiously unmarked, except for her name, followed by Spencer & Associates.

"The man said to make sure that you got it directly, so I waited."

"Oh, Ariel, you didn't have to do that. Next time, just knock, okay?"

The girl shifted nervously on her feet and nodded. "Okay."

"Thank you, though. I appreciate you waiting."

"Of course, Ms. French," she said, blushing.

Belle smiled back. "Now go home and get some rest; I don't want to keep you here any longer than need be."

"Thank you. Good night, ma'am!"

"Good night, Ariel!"

Her assistant gave her a little wave, and then left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Curious, Belle ripped open the package, and examined the contents, pulling out a magazine. She turned it around, and laughed aloud when she saw the cover—knowing at once who had sent it, yet not believing it all the same.

The magazine was a backdated _US News & World Report_ from the previous August, with Yale on the cover of its "Top US Schools" issue, with a prominent #1 by Yale's name, circled in dark black ink.

 _He didn't!_ Belle laughed, noting the White House's famous address written on the address label in the corner.

She took the magazine fully out of the package, and saw that there was a yellow post-it poking out from between its the pages. She opened up the magazine, quickly finding the marked page, along with a white piece of paper that fell out onto her lap. She picked it up and giggled girlishly again, seeing what he had written, feeling her face nearly strain from smiling so much.

_Best of luck in Washington ~ R_

_Richard Gold_. She smiled, their conversation coming back to her. She didn't know how she had expected a conversation with the President to go, but it certainly wasn't like that. As much as she had denied it vehemently to her colleagues, she couldn't help but admit to herself that the President had pleasantly surprised her. He was nothing as she had expected him to be. _He was just so…_ Belle frowned, unable to find the word she was searching for.

Looking back to the magazine itself, Belle noted that there was a highlighted name on the page, clearly done for some reason by Gold. The name—Henry Stratford—was listed among a group of notable Yale alumni. He was listed as a Congressman for the 48th District of California, and all at once Belle had a suspicious inkling that Gold had given her much more than a simple magazine in jest.

She swung over to her computer, swiping the mouse to awaken the monitor, and opened one of the closed browser folders on the scroll bar. It was a page profiling the Education & Workforce Committee that she had been trying to memorize yesterday before her meeting with Spencer. She scrolled down, and found Henry Stratford listed the fourth Republican on the list.

_Huh._

She typed his name quickly into Google, but the subsequent results didn't give her a hint of a reason as to why Gold had singled out that particular name to give to her. It was befuddling; yet, at the same time, she had the strange feeling that he hadn't sent this to her to hurt her in any way. She couldn't pinpoint why she felt like that, but in some strange way, she thought that maybe he was trying to help her.

 _Best of luck_ , she thought, picking up the white piece of paper again, and swiveling around to look out her window. The White House was barely visible in the distance; its spotlights making it glow in the foggy, winter night.

_Best of luck, indeed._


End file.
